


Working On A Name For That Thing We Do

by FabulaRasa



Category: DCU
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver is totally not using his wife to send erotic photos to his best friend. Is he? It's completely innocent, meaningless fun. Isn't it? The three of them wouldn't actually do anything about it.</p><p>Would they?</p><p>This is a companion piece to StarCity Rebel's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6951268">The Nameless Thing We Do</a>, and though you may read these works in any order, you might want to look at her story (from Dinah's POV) first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working On A Name For That Thing We Do

I don’t even remember the first time I did it. Maybe I was drunk? I mean, it’s possible. I’m not drunk a lot, but it happens, and, you know, maybe my impulse control was lowered just that small necessary bit. I can hear Batman now: _What impulse control would that be, Lantern?_ The kind that keeps me from telling you to suck my sparkly cock, Spooky. 

Anyway, somehow I was in the middle of this weird thing without even really remembering how I got there. I send pics to Dinah. Just pics of whatever I’m doing at the time. Places I am. Women I’m with. Alien sunsets, whatever. I mean, the part about sending pics to Dinah isn’t weird – she’s my friend too, right? We talk sometimes, without Ollie around. So that’s not weird. Right? Treating your best friend’s wife like your personal Instagram account?

Is it weirder if I tell you that sometimes I ask her to send pics to me?

Yeah. That’s weirder, huh. 

And here’s the thing: she shows my pics to Ollie. 

And like, the first time – the time I don’t remember – maybe I had just sent her a pic of some alien flower or some shit like that, maybe it was something I knew she would like. And she texted back, _so cool! Ollie loved it too_. And so the next time, it meant that I was thinking, in the back of my head, _hey, maybe Ollie would like this too_. And then. . . then maybe it wasn’t a flower I sent a pic of.

No, Jesus Christ, I did _not_ send my best friend and his wife a fucking dick pic, all right? Despite what Batman might tell you, I am not a complete and total asswipe. 

I mean. . . unless they were into that.

Are they?

Would they?

I know both their sexual scorecards pretty damn well. Could recite Ollie’s in my sleep. Dinah’s is no secret, either, and she’s never meant it to be. I know she’s bi as hell, and part of me wonders. . . have they? Ever? If Dinah asked, would Ollie invite a third into their bed? I can’t help but wonder if they have. See, I know in my own case, after a while of nothing but chocolate, you start to crave the flat sweet cream of vanilla, you know? I can’t imagine a life that didn’t have a little. . . variety in it. So maybe Dinah feels the same way, the same sort of yen. Maybe it takes one to know one. And if they’ve ever invited another woman, then who’s to say they wouldn’t invite a guy?

No. No no no fucking no. This is the point at which I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling hating myself. I have got to get some fucking therapy, only who the hell has time for that shit? 

Sometimes I let myself think about it. Run out the leash on my fantasy, just that little bit. Things in the dark no one has to know about. I grip my cock and imagine what it would be like, with Ollie. He is so fucking straight. The kind of really delicious straight who has no clue how good it feels with a guy, and he would come fucking unstrung, man. I know he would. I know I could get him there. Let him feel what it means to be kissed by a guy, by stubble that scrapes along your own beard, by lips as rough as yours, hands that grip as hard as yours. I could rub my hand on Ollie’s cock until he was hard enough to ache. He wouldn’t know what hit him. 

I rub my own cock, thinking about what Ollie’s would feel like up against mine. We’d have to get him drunk first. Maybe more than a little baked, too. And he’d lie sprawled on that wide bed and let us just do things to him, just let go. I could get Dinah to straddle his face, grind that sweet cunt down onto his beard. I’d probably lose track of what I was doing just to watch her come. And I could wrap my lips around Ollie’s cock and suck until he lost his fucking mind. 

Sometimes I change the scenario in my head. You gotta switch it up every now and again. Some scenarios I save for when I really need them. And hot as the whole tag team thing is, much as it’s my go-to, when I let myself go there at all, it’s not the hottest. Not by far. The hottest – the one I save for when I’m an inch from jizzing in my hand – is when I think about Ollie fucking me. And when I think about that one, somehow there’s no one else in the room. _Easy, gorgeous_ , he might say to me, as his thick fingers open me up, and I gasp and pant and try so hard not to come right there, from the pressure of his fingers, oh sweet Jesus Ollie. Ollie. 

He might bend my legs back and ease his cock in. He’d fuck me face to face, I know that much. Ollie’s too much of a showman for anything else. But beneath all that, beneath the showmanship, he would want me. I would see it in his eyes. Feel it in me, fucking me. He’d leave bruises, just because he could. 

Is it worse when I fantasize about just my best friend, or when I fantasize about both of them? 

Sometimes. . . sometimes I think Dinah knows. She sends me pics of Ollie post-workout, from time to time. _Damn, you make him work for it_ , I might text back. I’ll get a winkie emoji and stare at it like a teenage girl. What does a fucking emoji mean?? I go back and forth on whether she knows or not. I come up with a million different ways to ask. To hint. 

And then there are the times she’ll send a pic with just this attached to it: _Ollie told me to message you this photo_. And it will be Ollie working out, lifting, covered in sweat. The first one like that, I shut my phone off and didn’t answer for half an hour, because Jesus Christ. I mean, Jesus Christ.

Is my best friend cockteasing me? With his wife’s. . . permission? Because if so, that is all kinds of fucked up. But also, it is seriously fucking hot. 

I go back and forth on what to do about it. Play out the conversations in my head, the way the three of us might talk about it, when we’re drunk. We’re always closest to talking about it, when we’re drunk. I come up with ideas about how to bring it up, how to hint, how to. . . imply things. They all sound great in my head. They’re all for shit. 

But just this week I’ve come up with the best plan of all. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. I’ll take a selfie of me in a threesome with a girl and another guy, right? I mean, some species with recognizable genitalia, something like that. Would humans be gross? That would be gross, wouldn’t it. A little too craigslist. Okay, so, humanoid, but not too human. Enough so the selfie can be humorous. _Getting lucky in all directions here in the Theta system!_ I could say. She could reply or not reply. God, if she sends me another emoji I will fucking end myself, I swear I will. I will throw the phone across the room, I will call her up and shout WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, WOMAN? 

I read this article not too long ago about how most Americans are shit at using emojis, because they’re based on a Japanese cultural understanding of emotion. So like nine-tenths of us are using the little fuming red-faced dude to mean anger, when in fact he means “I have been shamed by your failure to send appropriate greetings to my mother-in-law.” So maybe Dinah is actually sending me the emoji that means “please come to my house and let me ride your cock while you suck off my husband.”

Because goddamn, I would. Make no mistake, I want to fuck Dinah too. Much as Ollie is the fuel of the deepest darkest deposit in my wank bank, Dinah’s sweet cunt occupies a hell of a lot of it too. And Ollie watching while we fuck. Ollie’s hand resting on my back, on my ass. Ollie’s hand squeezing my ass while I fuck her. Ollie’s fingers at the join of our bodies. Ollie’s fingers sliding into her wet slick cunt, running with our juices. I can feel his fingers alongside my cock. He rubs his fingers on my cock while he’s in there too. _Ol-Ollie, stop, fuck, I’m gonna shoot_. Maybe he’d scoop up some of our wetness and open me up while I’m fucking Dinah. Maybe his massive cock (yes, trust me on this one, we’re friends but every guy looks, all right) will slide into me while I’m fucking Dinah, and then I will just fucking lose it, rocking forward into the hot tight grip of her cunt, Dinah’s eyes on me, rocking back onto that cock, Ollie’s grunts in my ear as he grips me too tight around the middle. _That what you want, Hal? Is this it? You gonna come on my cock?_ My come might drip into his wife’s cunt, but my head will fall back onto his shoulder, my mouth go slack, my body boneless, as that meatcleaver between his legs fucking guts me until I bleed come. _That’s it baby_ , he'll say. 

Some nights my right hand just can’t jerk me off fast enough, thinking about it. 

The plan. Stay focused on the plan. It’s a good plan, right? 

Yeah, the threesome selfie pic is a great plan. It’s totally not emotionally disturbed at all. A-plus-plus times infinity. Any mental health care professional would definitely agree that a post-sex alien selfie is absolutely the way to confront complicated interpersonal relationships. 

Alternatively, I could just man up and send the text. The text that still sits on my phone, waiting for me to hit send. _Dinah_ , it reads. _I know this might seem weird, but sometimes being with the two of you is all I can think about._

 _We miss you too!_ She might write back.

And I would write back: _No. I didn’t mean like that. I mean being with the two of you, together. The way I know you think about too. The way I see in your eyes sometimes, when Ollie’s in the middle of telling some story and you glance at me. The three of us, together. The way we were meant to be._

And there are one of two possible answers to that exchange. She might say:

a) _Hal. I think you are thinking some things about the three of us that aren’t true. I’m sorry._

or

b) _Get your ass over here right now._

Either way, I would know once and for all. No more lying awake in the dark wanking myself to exhaustion. No more fantasies, no more hesitation. And I’m there, I’m ready. I am ready to face the consequences of that conversation, it is one hundred percent going to happen. Come what may, I am going to hit send. I’m going to do it. I’m ready. 

Almost.


End file.
